I christened my blog, "Kathy's Moors" because I love the book, Wuthering Heights. In the story, the character, Cathy relishes rare moments of autonomy when she walks the moors in an effort to escape her everyday life. Although my own physical wanderings are usually limited to the aisles of my neighborhood Target, here I can metaphorically roam these tucked-away “cyber moors” as I grapple with my own journey. Thanks for walking with me.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

I am having some thoughts about what it means to blog well. As an intermediate blogger at best, I ask myself, what is required to blog skillfully and poignantly? How does one best capitalize on his or her own faculties of language to capture a moment, a scene, a figure? Good writing, it seems uses language aptly, specifically, precisely without sounding overly discursive. Am I capable of reaching this level of blogging mastery? This will be a long road for me.

I want to convey ideas in relatable terms that precisely capture my ideas, but I stumble through my limited, internal lexicon. In this moment, as I type along - click - click - click - my brain gropes for exactly the right word while I wonder, is anyone reading this? Does anyone relate to this? In this vast sea of cyberspace, does my diction even matter? I can't help but wonder if I am projecting some clumsy form of myself into a vast, electronic nothingness. Do other bloggers struggle with these same questions and internal restrictions? Restrictions of language? Restrictions of ideas? Restrictions of thought?

Tonight I read Twain's quote and remember that all writers must, to some extent feel this way.

“The difference between the right word and almost right word is the difference between lightning and a lightning bug.”

Language can expand us, astound us, change us or it can bind us in its web. I want to break through that web and control my use of language so that my blogs are vibrant and vital. So, I continue to wait for those inspirational moments and hope that maybe once in a while I can capture one in just the right way. I'll keep working for that.

Sunday, March 27, 2011

If you don't live in northern California you may not be aware of the pounding we've received lately from a string of unrelenting storms. We've already lost part of our fence and when I asked Phil last week if he knew the location of our trash can, he replied, "We put it away."

"We did?"

"You did, right?"

"Nope."

One more quick survey of the street revealed it's location - four houses down, across the street, lid open, lying in the wet gutter - GOAL.

We're all wet up here. I guess I'm telling you this because it's been nearly impossible to get outside and complete my training for my upcoming half marathon run/walk. Last week, I threw caution to the wind, literally and trained outside despite the elements. I think I mentioned my response to that decision on my Facebook status. Pelted with wind and rain, freezing my ears off, with several miles to go, I felt overcome by the intimate and intense peace of God.

This week, I tried a more, er...creative training method. I woke up and remembered that our local mall opens early for walkers. Why not train inside this week? I don't know the distance of a lap around the big place, but I have a fairly good sense of my fifteen minute mile. This week I had to complete seven of those suckers. After calling the Galleria to confirm that they do indeed host walkers in the morning, I made my decision and was off.

What a strange way to train! I found myself circling the mall, virtually alone, with the exception of the occasional low-spirited security guard or members of the cleaning crew peppered throughout the building buffing and scrubbing, no doubt in anticipation of the day's crowds.

The strangest part of this experience? During my run, I felt this uncanny sense of expedited window shopping. As the theme from Rocky trumpeted through my headphones, I raced past the glossy pink mannequins of Wet Seal (It's so hard now) past the cloud-like poofs of Pottery Barn Kids' Beatrix Potter quilts (getting strong now), Popcornopolis now in my rear view, (gonna fly), pondering the mosquito netting-like cylindrical lamps above the food court, (FLY) and back around to that Nordstrom's pleated skirt (FLY! Bah, bah, BAH!)

I thought about efforts. All my efforts. The mall is a funny place. In the right context, it can offer the same spiritual reflective space as a cloister. As I struggled to complete seven miles with some semblance of grace, I thought about the things for which we all strive. The mall stands as a haunting symbol of society's efforts to possess the Pottery Barn, Express, Nordstrom's, Gap life. I am no exception and too often fall victim to this great illusion, but on this morning - in these moments, I also found great irony in the emptiness of our palatial mall. It was just a little glimpse, but a penetrating one for me.